Kiss of the Rose (18 page)

“And who gave you permission to be judge and jury of my race?”

He shrugged. “Those who came before me.”

Rosalind shook her head. “Thanks to your ancestors, there are so few of us left now that most people have no idea we even exist.” She raised her head to meet his eyes. “I suppose that makes you proud.”

He sighed. “Rosalind, I cannot speak for my ancestors. All I know is that for the last few hundred years we have only killed Druids when the Vampires have been threatened— Vampires who are as innocent as you or I, and are just trying to survive.”

“And you expect me to feel sorry for them?”

He glared down at her. “If you expect me to change my opinion about your race, why shouldn’t you change your opinion about mine?”

“Because you aren’t a Vampire! You just do their bidding.”

“It isn’t as simple as that! I have made vows. I am just as bound to my cause as you are!”

Now he was as angry as she was, and she welcomed that.At least if she was fighting him, she could forget the hurt of his assuming she was a wanton…

He took a deep breath and then let it out again. “My lady, I would appreciate it if you didn’t celebrate Beltaine.”

“Why, because you have changed your mind and in-tend to go on a killing spree after all?”

His teeth snapped together so hard that she heard the click. He stepped into her until their bodies were aligned from knee to forehead. He used his fingers to raise her chin. “Don’t say another word, or I’ll be sorely tempted to put you over my knee and spank you until you scream for mercy.”

“I’ll never scream for you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Never is a long time, Rosalind, so be careful what you say.”

“I am going to celebrate Beltaine, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t like it. I think I’ve made myself clear about that.” His thumb shaped her jaw and then her earlobe.

She jerked her head away from his far too beguiling touch. “You have no claim on me.”

“I know that, yet I am asking you to stay and guard the queen with me tonight.”

“Why is it so important?”

“If the Vampire knows you and Rhys are absent, she might choose tonight to strike.”

Rosalind stepped away from Christopher and almost bumped into the flimsy structure of the tent siding. She didn’t want to belong to him in any way, so why was she disappointed that he had asked her for the queen’s benefit rather than his own?

Rosalind gave him her sweetest smile.“I’m sure you’ll do splendidly without me.” She bobbed him a curtsy and ran for the exit of the narrow alley. She heard him curse behind her, but he let her go. She kept running until she was hidden by the crowds and ducked into a stall selling ribbons and lace.

She’d promised the queen she would be one of the Maypole dancers. Had Christopher promised the same thing? It was highly likely. She had no desire to spend her afternoon trapped in a mesh of ribbons with a furious Druid slayer.

“That one’s a farthing, love.”

Rosalind looked down at the knot of green and silver ribbons she held in her hand and fished in her purse for a coin. “Thank you. It matches perfectly with my gown.”

The older woman dressed in an old-fashioned kirtle and soft linen head covering took the ribbons from Rosalind. “Stand still, my precious, and I’ll pin it onto your bodice for you.”

She’d handled Christopher badly. The fact that he’d been right to question the timing of both her and Rhys’s disappearance only made it worse.

“There you are, sweeting.”

Rosalind smiled down at the woman. “It looks beautiful. Thank you.”

“You go off and enjoy yourself now, my lady.” The older woman poked Rosalind’s arm. “I’m sure you’ve got a dozen followers just waiting to dance with you today.”

Rosalind waved and set off again, only to bump into Margaret and her husband, who enthusiastically dragged her over to the Maypole and insisted she take her place in the dance. Opposite her stood Christopher, his expression savage, his blue eyes boring into hers. She quickly looked away and smiled at the man standing next to her. Perhaps if she deliberately forgot her steps, she could bind Christopher to the Maypole. She’d have liked nothing better than to leave him there trussed up like a chicken for the rest of the day.

Chapter 13

C
hristopher glared across at Rosalind as she chatted merrily to the man clutching the Maypole ribbon next to her. It was no surprise to see the young man’s smile widen and interest deepen in his eyes. Rosalind looked beautiful. Her green-and-silver gown flattered her figure and brought to Christopher’s mind images of the lush emerging season, of buds flowering, of spring matings.

Christopher frowned as his prick reacted to the thought of spring and tried to flower within his hose. He took hold of the long Maypole ribbon and clenched it in his fist. He’d dance for the queen’s benefit, and try to ignore the temptation across from him. Rosalind was only angry because he’d reminded her of her duty— that was all. And he had a perfect right to remonstrate with her.

Guilt settled over him as he recalled her furious expression when he’d insulted her morals. Verily, he’d acted like a fool and then compounded his error by pretending he was the better man for putting his duty above his pleasure.

A flash of red hair in the crowd over by the king’s dais drew his attention and he realized Rhys was doing his part and keeping his eye on the royal couple. He was surprised that Rhys was willing to forget his duties in favor of a Beltaine romp. But, then again, if Christopher had Rosalind to romp with, he’d be more than willing to ignore his responsibilities.

And that made him a hypocrite…

He sighed as the music started, bowed to the lady to his left, and grasped his ribbon in his right hand. The first steps of the dance were simple enough. The men promenaded in one direction and the ladies in the opposite. He barely had a chance to glimpse Rosalind before she skipped past him. When the music changed tempo, he executed a series of gliding steps that brought him back-to-back with his female companion and entwined the ribbons more tightly around the pole. He barely remembered to smile, let alone dally with each new partner as was expected. He could hardly bear the wait as Rosalind drew ever closer.

Eventually he faced her. She wouldn’t look at him, her gaze firmly on her ribbon and the pattern overlying the red and white stripes of the Maypole.

“I’m sorry.” That brought her head up. She sidestepped until they were shoulder to shoulder, her silken skirts catching at his hose. “I have no right to criticize your religion or your choices.”

Her brown eyes flashed fire at him as they faced each other again and then repeated the same set of steps to the left. His ribbon brushed against her cheek; he wished he could let it go and simply touch her instead.

“You imply that I am a whore, and expect me to forgive you just because you smile at me?”

She danced around him and his opportunity to reply was lost as he contemplated the beaming welcome of his next partner. He set his teeth and endured the whole excruciating circle again until he was opposite Rosalind.

“I’m not smiling and I don’t think you a whore, else I would already have had you.”

She swayed to her left and looked back over her shoulder at him, her dark hair half covering her face.“As if I’d let you.”

He shot a frustrated glance at the musicians. Why couldn’t they slow down? In two more beats of the music, he would be past her again. “I don’t care about the others.”

She looked startled, but then it was too late and she had slipped past him again, leaving him unsure of her response and desperate to escape the demands of the dance.

And then they were back together, their maneuvers restrained by the tug of the shortened ribbons and the laughter of the other couples. He stared into her eyes.“I don’t care, Rosalind. I still want you.”

She stood and stared at him as the music climbed to a triumphant climax. He dropped his ribbon and pulled her into his arms.“God help me,” he whispered,“I don’t care what you’ve done. I want you.”

The crowd around them was yelling in appreciation of their amorous embrace, but Rosalind was not responding.

“What is it now?” he asked.

Tears glinted in her brown eyes and she blinked hard. “I don’t want you to want me despite yourself.”

“What in God’s name is that supposed to mean?”

“You are still judging me.”

“I’m trying to tell you that I don’t care. That, despite everything, you are still the only woman I want. Why does that make you weep?”

She swiped at the single tear on her cheek. “I’m not weeping.”

He sighed and let her go, oblivious of the shouts and jeers of the crowd around them. A curiously dull sensation settled in the pit of his stomach and he swallowed hard. What was it about him that made everyone push him away? Did he carry evidence of his mother’s sin on his very visage? He held out his hands, palms up in supplication. “What else do you want me to say?”

She shook her head and turned to walk away from him, the gauzy silver streamers of her headdress fluttering in the breeze. He wanted to go after her, to demand an answer, but he realized it would be futile. She didn’t trust him, and to be fair, he wasn’t sure he was worthy of her trust. Mayhap she’d sensed the lie behind his words, that if she was his, he’d never let her touch another man again.

His gaze fell on the oak barrels lined up by the food trestles. If he was destined to spend the rest of the day alone, he might as well submerge his addled thoughts in ale and prepare himself for another night hunting the Vampire.

“Sir Christopher?”

Christopher looked up from contemplating his empty cup of ale to find Rhys Williams staring down at him. Darkness now covered the site of the May Day revels, although fires roared and people gathered in tight knots to sing and drink. The air was different somehow, charged with a menace and an excitement he could almost taste.

“What can I do for you, Master Williams?”

Rhys frowned. “Get your head out of that ale, for a start. How do you expect to guard anyone when you are befuddled with drink?”

“I am not drunk.” Christopher tried to conceal a belch. “I am merely merry.”

“If you insist, sir.” Rhys didn’t look convinced at all. “Will you be able to watch over the king and queen by yourself tonight?”

Christopher glanced around, but there was nobody else sitting at his table. He helped himself to more ale from the new jug someone had thoughtfully placed there. “I don’t need anyone’s assistance. I am the one who can sense the Vampire in my head.”

“That’s a good point, sir. I hadn’t thought of that. It will make your job far easier.” Rhys nodded and made as if to leave.

Christopher stared into his ale. “Are you going to her now?”

Rhys hesitated, one hand on his sword. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“To Rosalind.”

Rhys stared at him for a long moment and then lowered his voice. “I’m going to celebrate Beltaine according to the customs of my religion.”

“So you will be with her.”

Something flickered in Rhys’s eyes that mirrored all too accurately the emotions swirling in Christopher’s head. “It’s the first time she’s celebrated Beltaine without her family around her. I have to keep her safe.”

Christopher saluted him with his cup and then drank deeply. The bitter taste of the hops and added herbs made his throat burn. “Better you than anyone else, I suppose.”

“I beg your pardon, sir.”

“To rut with her, I mean.”

He suddenly found himself on his feet as Rhys grabbed a handful of his doublet. “Do not speak of my lady like that.”

Christopher laughed. “What’s the matter? I flatter you, sir. I’m saying I’d rather it was you than any other man.”

Rhys yanked even harder on Christopher’s doublet, his voice rough and full of anger. “And so it would be, if you hadn’t turned up and ruined everything. Make no mistake, Ellis. I vowed I would not interfere in your relationship, but if you hurt her, I’ll kill you and be damned to the consequences.”

“I’d expect nothing less from the man she considers her dearest friend.”

“Her
betrothed
when I get her safely back to Wales.”

Christopher hoped his smile masked the instant denial that sprang to his lips. “Then go to your beloved.”

Elias appeared suddenly behind Rhys and wrapped a hand around his throat. A dagger appeared between his fingers, and Rhys went still.“I told Rosalind to go ahead and meet you at the stone circle, Master Williams, but I’m afraid you will be delayed.”

Christopher had to grab the edge of the trestle table for support.That last jug of ale must have been far more potent than the rest. “Let Rhys go.”

Elias drew the tip of his dagger across Rhys’s throat until a thin line of blood appeared. He inhaled deeply, as if savoring the bouquet of a fine wine. A muscle flicked in Rhys’s cheek, but otherwise he showed no reaction. “Go to Rosalind, Ellis. She needs protection.”

Christopher ignored Rhys and fixed his gaze on Elias. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping us?”

“I am helping you.” Elias smiled. “Master Williams is right. Lady Rosalind could be in danger. You must find her.”

“But I don’t know where she is.”

Before Christopher could react, Elias’s fangs sank into Rhys’s neck. Rhys gave a strange sigh and slumped to the ground.

“What in God’s name have you done?” Christopher went down on his knees to help Rhys, only to find Elias’s dagger at his temple. “He’s the only one who knows where Rosalind is! Why did you kill him?”

“He isn’t dead, Sir Christopher. He’ll awaken in a few hours. I give you my word on that.”

Christopher got slowly to his feet. None of the masses of people carousing around the bonfires seemed aware of the drama being played out in front of them. Had Elias performed some magic to shield them from view, or was everyone simply too drunk to care? Christopher swayed as a wave of heat blossomed in his gut and spread through his limbs.

“You fool, Elias. How am I supposed to find her now?”

Elias smiled to reveal his bloodied fangs. “I can find her. I tasted her blood this afternoon.” He licked his lips. “She was… delicious.”